Page 113 of Until August
Later that night,I was lying on my bed reading the epilogue where theyfinallygot their happy ending when I heard it. Music.
Luca left after dinner and said he would stay at a friend’s house. I didn’t ask if that friend was a girl. I didn’t want to know.
I’d been doing a lot of thinking since our conversation this afternoon. About Cruz. About August. About my relationship with each of them.
Even though Luca had brought it back to himself, he made some interesting points.
My relationship with Cruz had been easy because our life had been relatively easy. We hadn’t been dealt any harsh blows. We hadn’t suffered any devastating losses.
They say you can never have the same love twice. Not that August and I were in love. But he was the first man I’d been attracted to, other than Cruz, in eleven years.
I was different with August becauseIhad changed. I wasn’t the same woman Cruz fell in love with.
Sorrow and grief had changed me. Time had changed me.
I wanted and needed different things now than I had at twenty-one.
I needed someone who could put the sun back in the sky.
I needed someone like August.
I’d picked up my phone to text or call him at least a dozen times, but something always stopped me. So, in the end, I did nothing.
Now, the music grew louder, cutting into my thoughts. Was Luca home? I hadn’t heard the front door open, and the music was coming from outside.
It was almost midnight, and I lived in a quiet neighborhood. Most of my neighbors were either families with young kids or empty nesters.
I set my book aside, crept over to the window facing the front yard, and moved the linen blind aside to peer out. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was seeing.
What the hell was he doing?
He was going to wake the neighbors.
I stared out the window, trying to make sense of this. Then I raised the blind and opened the window.
Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” blasted from a portable speaker, and August was standing on the roof of his truck, holding it above his head.
He looked like the grownup version of every bad boy teen heartthrob in the movies I’d watched hundreds of times.
He stood still as a statue with his legs slightly spread and that damn speaker held high. He wore his old biker boots, denim, and a ripped t-shirt.
I could clearly see it because he’d tripped the motion sensor, and the spotlight above the garage illuminated him.
When the song ended, it started playing again like he’d set it on an endless loop, and I knew that if I didn’t go out there and stop him, he would let it keep playing all night long.
He was stubborn. I already knew that about him.
He was also crazy. So crazy that I started laughing as I ran out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and flung open the front door.
I dashed across the front lawn on my bare feet and stopped beside his old beat-up truck, waving my arms to get his attention.
“Get down here!” I yelled to be heard over the music. “I can’t have you getting arrested for disturbing the peace.”
He tipped his chin down with the speaker still held aloft and didn’t budge an inch.
“At least turn down the music,” I said.
I don’t know how he did it, but the music got louder.
